What REALLY Happened to Scott Summers
by Deranged Lil' Hobbit
Summary: If Jean really loved Scott, why'd she kill him as the Phoenix? Best not to make mistakes you'll later regret. So, what DID happen to Scott? We shall see. First chapter's a bit angsty, but in the end, humor prevails! Set during X3.
1. Returning to Normal

TITLE: What REALLY Happened To Scott Summers

AUTHOR: Deranged Lil' Hobbit

RATING: PG-13

FANDOM: X3, movie

SUMMARY: If Jean was really in love with Scott while she was lusting after Logan, wouldn't that be reflected in her actions as Phoenix? Why kill Scott and go after Logan when she could have both? Best not to make mistakes you'll later regret. Partly based on the Phoenix's extreme... er, passion.

DISCLAIMER: If I owned this stuff, I wouldn't have to write this because Scott wouldn't have died in the movie. 'Tis all in fun and for laughs. I make no moneys nor anything else. I make only teh words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Mainly based on a discussion on DeviantART, and my incessant hang-up on the movies killing off Cyclops. Said discussion concluded with the fact that if there were ever to be an X4, they'd need Scott alive again. And what better way than to explain that he never died in the first place?

This would have been a script, had not banned them. Now I have more work to do.

You can find the discussion on DeviantART dot com, by searching for the picture "Babies Scott and Jean" by BabyWolverine, and reading the comments on that pic.

* * *

Scott Summers was lying in the same place he'd been in for the past two days. He'd hardly moved, only getting up when the necessity of emptying his bladder arose. Which was becoming less frequently, seeing as he'd barely drank anything in the last forty-eight hours. He hadn't done anything but lie in bed.

Theirs. His and Jean's bed.

For the first week or so after Alkali Lake, Scott had been in shock. As soon as they returned to the mansion, the first order of business was to clean up and repair the damage done in Stryker's raid. Bedposts had to be mended, doors replaced, glass swept up. And somehow, they had to get the scorch marks off the wall where John had encountered a few of the soldiers. Many students had to find different places to sleep until their own rooms were back in order, and Scott himself spent most of the following nights on a small mattress they'd dragged down and put on the floor in the professor's study.

Finally, when everything had been fixed and cleaned, he had gone upstairs and walked into the back hall where the X-Men's rooms were. In the past week, he hadn't even been back here to wheel professor Xavier to bed. He'd asked Storm to do it. Now, though, his own room was ready to be lived in again, and he had no choice but to return to reality. The hectic atmosphere of the clean-up had dissipated, and life slowed back to its normal speed.

As he turned the last corner and reached the door, a strong anxiety washed over him, and he could almost see the grief and depression lurking on the other side of the door, waiting to pounce him the moment he opened it.

He'd have to go in there sooner or later, to get his things out and move them to a new room, if nothing else.

The door swung open silently, hinges freshly oiled. Before, it used to make a horrible wailing creak, which he'd actually grown fond of hearing. Jean could always sense it when he entered the room; he always knew by the sound of the door when she arrived.

The first thing Scott's gaze fell upon was the bed. So many times, he would come back from a mission or a late drive into town, and when he did she would be sitting there, propped up on two or three pillows, smiling up at him with a medical journal in her lap.

Her absence now was incredibly obvious, so much more so than during the flight home. He really had been in shock, and the distraction when he got back gave him no time to mourn. With that distraction gone now, the thoughts and memories he was left to contend with were overwhelming.

Pride gave him the presence of mind to shoulder the door closed behind him before he collapsed into a sobbing heap on the hardwood floor.

How he'd eventually managed to drag himself over to the bed and climb in, he couldn't remember. But once he was in it, it was so hard to get up. He would lie facing the bureau with his eyes closed, and pretend Jean was behind him on the other side of the bed, waiting for him to turn over so she could kiss him 'good morning.' But no matter how detailed, how perfect his vision of her, she was gone. He knew that if he ever did turn over, all that would be there were the pillows he'd stuffed that side with. And that only made him cry harder.

* * *

WHEW! Very angsty for a first chapter, and the story could probably do without it, but it has been written, and I didn't want to throw it out. And anyway, it gives you a little more of the ScottAngst lighted upon in the movie.

But don't worry, there is no way I could write this without it being a humor piece. I promise you will be laughing soon!

And if my fic doesn't do the trick, I will send Toad to sneak up on you with laugh gas! XD


	2. The Voices in My Head

When the voices started, he thought he'd gone crazy. After becoming so used to having Jean talk to him in his head on a daily basis, maybe now he needed it so badly that his mind was conjuring up voices of its own.

For the first few days, it was nothing more than the occasional mental whisper; enough to make him pause from writing on the blackboard during the classes he'd dutifully started teaching again. By eleven a.m. on the fourth day, it had escalated into an unintelligible cacophony of voices swarming him, making it difficult to concentrate. The stream of thoughts was so heavy and so chaotic, he couldn't be sure they were all from one person.

If this had been happening under any other pretense, Scott would have gone to Xavier for help. But after all that had occurred that fateful day at the Lake, Scott was too afraid of the professor inadvertently churning up those memories, dislodging them like pebbles from the bottom of a pool to float to the surface. And Scott doubted his ability to hold on to the last remaining threads of his sanity should he have to relive that day.

So, Scott cancelled his afternoon classes. After writing a note on the blackboard for his students, he found the professor and informed him, saying he wasn't feeling well. Charles had nodded, said he understood, and asked if there was anything he could do. Scott politely declined, insisting all he needed was a little rest.

Then Charles probed, as he always did when words had been exhausted, with a questioning touch. Scott bristled at the feeling, abruptly shielding his mind from the familiar presence. The professor's inquiry was gentle, but Scott's response was so vehement it made them both jump.

Having had the proverbial door slammed in his face, Charles withdrew, averting his eyes so as not to display his shock at this unprecedented behavior from his long-time pupil.

"I'll see to it that Storm knows you'll be absent," he said, turning his attention back to a pile of papers he'd been sorting through when Scott came in. "Sleep well."

Scott gave one curt nod of acknowledgment, also shaken by his own violent display, and left.

* * *

Charles rolled down the hall with Ororo by his side. Normally, she'd be pushing his wheelchair with the intent of saving the motor's battery, but the professor was in one of those moods, and he always preferred controlling the chair himself when something was bothering him.

"We could be helping so many more people," Storm was saying. "Just make ourselves a little more public so that mutants would know there's a safe haven. I mean, the government's not after us anymore, so why are we still hiding?"

Charles sighed. Sometimes Storm's insistence that humans accept her rivaled that of Magneto himself. "We are not hiding," he assured her, "But we do have enemies. My first and foremost duty is to protect my students."

"We can't all be students forever."

Despite the twinge of bitterness in her tone, Charles chuckled. "Storm, I hadn't thought of you as my student for years! Certainly not once you started wearing those see-through shirts, anyway."

Storm stopped walking and stood with her hands on her hips, mouth agape. Everyone had joked about her patterned blouses years ago when she first started wearing them, but she continued to act offended if anyone brought it up.

"You dirty old man," she said in mock disgust. It would have almost been convincing, had she not been fighting a smile.

As the two of them continued down the hall, Charles added, "I mean it. You really have grown to be mature, caring, and very aware of how to help the students. . . In fact, I was hoping you might take my place someday."

Ororo stopped in her tracks again, this time looking at the professor with true disbelief. "But, but Scott--"

"Scott's a changed man." The professor's face grew dark. "He took Jean's death so hard, and now. . ."

Unsure of what to say, Storm settled for looking sympathetically grim. What _does _one tell to a man who feels like he's lost his son, she wondered? She didn't even know what to tell Scott's students that also took her history and culture classes, who would come to her in quiet moments and ask if she thought he'd be okay again.

Something had changed in him, possibly forever.

". . . Which reminds me," said Charles, "He's taken the rest of the day off. I've asked Logan to assist you in the Danger Room again."

Storm groaned.

"And regardless of how frustrating he makes it for you, you are not to throw _any _lightning bolts at him _whatsoever_. Not even 'by accident.' Teamwork does not include frying your teammates into submission."

Happy happy, joy joy.

* * *

Scott was sitting on his bed, trying to think. He'd taken an Aspirin for the headache brought on by the voices, and was considering taking another.

_Idiot_, he scolded himself, _that's not going to make them stop. The pain'll go away, but the thoughts won't_.

_**Damn right**_, one of the many random voices chimed. Probably completely out of context, but it still seemed ironic. With a strangled laugh, Scott fell back on the bed.

_I wonder how many pills it'd take to_... No. Best to stop right there, before the _Romeo and Juliet _death-scene vibes took over.

Scott cursed and sat up again as the sounds in his head got louder, triggering a jolt of pain that lashed out behind his eyes. Clutching his head, he willed it to stop. But it didn't, instead rising to a deafening roar that made him cringe. Then, amidst the chaos, one voice cried out just loud enough to be heard above the rest. It was only one word, but Scott couldn't discern it with everything else going on in his skull.

He was ready to start screaming himself when, one by one, the rest of the voices picked up the cry. It became nearly a chant, the same thing over and over again, with the voices overlapping. An instant later, they melded, and only a single voice was left - and Scott realized it had only been that one voice all along.

Its many pieces unified, it was able to speak intelligibly now. It repeated the word a final time, stronger. _**Scott**_.

His head snapping up, he answered it with an uncertain call. "Jean?"

But she was gone. Tormenting him all this time, and now she'd left, just like that. If it was truly Jean, she wouldn't abandon him this way. But she wasn't alive to abandon him...

He had to get out of here. Staying cooped up in the mansion wasn't helping any, and maybe he needed to stir the pebbles up himself, without the professor's help; face what had happened and get over it. Determinedly, he strode to the closet and searched for his backpack.

Tomorrow was the weekend anyway, so he could take his time coming back.

An extra shirt, his sleeping visor, a roll of toilet paper, shaving kit, and fresh underwear were all thrown into the backpack, and his wallet thrust into his back pocket.

He was nearly to the foyer when he saw Logan. Scott kept his head down, hoping to slink by unnoticed, but to no avail.

"Hey," Logan approached him, "They were lookin' fer you yesterday, an' you didn't show."

Scott stopped where he was, knowing Logan would only follow if he kept walking. "What do you care?"

"Well, for starters, I had to cover your ass."

"I didn't ask you to," Scott pointed out.

"No, you didn't," Logan agreed. "The professor did."

_And I have a feeling he's going to ask you again. In which case, I think it'd be best if I wasn't around_... Death by Wolverine. At least, it would be more effective than the pills...

Logan continued, "I was just passing through."

Oh, boo-hoo. Was poor widdle Wolvie feeling used? Well, Scott wasn't in the mood for it. "So pass through, Logan."

But then Logan caught his arm, saying, "Look I know how you feel--"

And that set off the Red Alert; Scott's personal bubble had been invaded - by Logan, of all people - and that was where he drew the line.

"No, you DON'T!" Scott yelled as he swung his fist into the other man's jaw. A stupid move, really, considering he was punching a steel skeleton with a short fuse. (A/N: Or is it a short fuse with a steel skeleton?)

Logan's head hardly moved, despite the fact he hadn't seen it coming. He looked annoyed, but didn't return the blow.

Afraid of provoking Logan into actually retaliating if the conversation continued, Scott turned and speed-walked for the door. He also didn't want to give Logan the satisfaction of seeing how much his fist hurt.

"Prick," Logan muttered as the front door slammed. "Gonna get himself killed if he keeps that up."

* * *

Whee! I got... one... review... sniffle But I am surprised that this story is being watched by so many people. More than Elrond, even!

Sorry it didn't get too much funnier yet. But the best part is with Jean, and that'll be the next part! puts on eeeevil plotting face I just got carried away with the Scott-angst, I guess.

But you guys like that, right? If you do, review and let me know. That way I feel like I have a purpose in life, and won't have to transfer my own angst onto the already-suicidal Scott. 'Cause if I did that, I think he'd just drive his motorcycle right into the lake without bothering to get off first, and then I'd have no story.

JEAN NEXT!


	3. PSA: Or, An Evening Sunset

"Eight years," Logan mused. He drew a long puff from his cigar.

Scott, leaning comfortably into the porch railing, looked down at the mutant seated on the whitewashed steps. "Eight years of what?" he asked, intrigued.

Ashy breath rose and blended with the pink hues of the sunset filling Scott's quartz lenses.

"Eight years," Logan said quietly, as though to no one but himself, "that this kid's been writin' stories about universes like ours."

Scott smiled, remembering. "Hobbies have to start somewhere, huh?"

Logan grunted and tapped off some ash on an empty terra cotta pot Ororo hadn't gotten around to moving.

"What brought on the nostalgia kick?" Scott asked, still propped lazily against the beam. Logan didn't bother to look up at him.

"E-mail."

Scott barely caught the word masked in another grunt.

"Those notifications still popping up?" Scott exclaimed. It was a wonder to him that, after all this time, the final notice on The Author's main page went unnoticed.

Logan nodded, just slightly. "Some trigger-happy newcomers been settin' off the subscription messages, like they're expectin' the kid to update. They don' even seem ter be checking his profile page first... if they did, they'd know he's been long gone from here. Nothin' gets updated here, not since those slimy agents took out every last Tolkien-based fic."

Despite the early summer warmth, Scott felt a quick shiver rush through him and wrapped his arms around himself.

"But he's still writing," Scott asked, "isn't he? There's that whole other website he made just for his stories."

The peeved growl left Logan's voice when he answered, "Oh yeah, there's a lot of new stuff up there. Folks jus' don't seem to realise there's a link from his profile here." He stubbed the cigar out in some dirt inside the terra cotta, finding he didn't care to finish the rest.

Scott added, "Maybe they do know. Maybe they've been checking in and following every story, all this time? It's not like we can tell when they leave no reviews."

"Yeah, ain't that the bitch of it. Good old anonymity of browsin'. Not like the numbers on the site visitor countin' thing have been reliable."

"I guess we've done all we can, then," Scott murmured. He took one last look out across the mansion grounds and the long shadows falling across it, making way for dusk.

"Yep." Logan agreed and stood. He clapped some dust off his hands and tromped with an air of ease past Scott and opened the kitchen's screen door.

Scott followed him inside, with only one brief glance behind.

/Eight years,/ he thought. /The land may change, but the sunset's the same./


End file.
